


Another tear, another cry (another place for us to die)

by whump_angst_fluff_repeat



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Vomiting, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whump_angst_fluff_repeat/pseuds/whump_angst_fluff_repeat
Summary: Irondad Febuwhump 2021
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 55
Kudos: 48





	1. Another light lost from your face

**Author's Note:**

> As I told [jelly_pies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelly_pies), this febuwhump is going to be more like febu _angst,_ so buckle up, folks! I don't know if I'll be able to get through all of the prompts (I wasn't even planning on doing any until about a week ago, thx jelly), but I'll do as many as I can! I started out with a weak attempt at keeping to a word count, but that rapidly failed. But some of these will be quite short and others will be longer. The large majority (if not all) of the prompts will be Irondad & Spiderson, as far as I have planned. You know me :)
> 
> Title taken from Ed Sheeran's "Autumn Leaves," a beautiful song. Go listen.
> 
> Lastly, some of these chapters will contain MCD (I'm sorry). I'll make a note in the end notes of the chapters that do, in case you want to check before reading or skip reading altogether.
> 
> And without further ado, chapter 1: mind control

There was no other way.

Every resource had been exhausted, every idea proposed and analyzed and discarded.

Over a hundred had already been killed. It couldn’t go on any longer.

They’d told Peter not to come, begged him, used every excuse that Peter had heard a million times already on every mission.

_You’re too young, it’s not your responsibility, we don’t want you to get_ _hurt._

And some he hadn't heard before.

_This is too close to you._

Peter didn’t care.

He’d told them he could handle it and refused to listen to another word.

He didn’t know why he’d known so adamantly that he needed to be there --not until he arrived on his own to find every other hero down.

Steve was unconscious, Sam’s wings were broken, Nat was shot, Bucky and Rhodey and Clint, all incapacitated-

_It’s on me._

Peter knew just where to grab and crush the thrusters, just how to flip the man and pin him down.

He knew just what to say, seated half on top of the man, holding him down, but he hesitated an excruciating moment. And the faceplate flipped up.

“Spider-Man, it’s me. Why are you doing this?” The voice was too flat, too calm. The impersonal use of his superhero title was a rope around Peter’s neck.

“You’re not him.” Peter’s mask retracted too, knowing the tears were already evident in his voice. He knew seeing each other’s faces would only make this more difficult. But maybe that was what some part of him wanted. Maybe it was his last hope that somehow this time the sight of his face would trigger something in the man.

“Yes, I am. You know me, Spider-Man. You can help me, you can join me-”

“You’re not _him._ ” Peter had to swallow back a sob. “You’re right, I know you. I know _him,_ and Tony Stark doesn’t kill _innocent people._ You’re not him, and you won’t stop.” Peter’s hand shook violently as he lifted it.

“You don’t need to do this, Spider-Man.”

His eyesight was swimming, his breath hitching. “I’m sorry,” was all he could whisper.

The words made his stomach roil, caught against the edges of his throat, tasted acidic and unforgiving on his tongue. Went against his very nature.

He stared into Tony’s unnaturally multicolored eyes and choked on a desperate sob.

“Karen, activate instant kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the first chapter has MCD. At least implied.
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! <33 Come back tomorrow, I can at least promise that one won't have MCD!


	2. Feeling my way through the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two: "I can't take this anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to day two of Febuwhump! Enjoy!
> 
> tw: vomit

Peter woke up in darkness and scrambled out of sticky sheets in one movement, desperation propelling his limbs before his brain really got the message.

In seconds he was in the bathroom, thankful the lid was already up as he braced his hands against the toilet and heaved. His stomach clenched painfully, his knees met the cold tile as what little was left of his lunch spilled into the bowl. He choked and gagged and spit the string of bile, trying desperately to rid his mouth of the taste.

Breathing heavily and closing his eyes, he sat back on his heels for a moment only to lurch forward again, another pungent stream spilling from his throat.

Gosh, it _hurt._

Every sensation surrounding him felt amplified, the harsh bathroom lights burning streaks into his eyes, the night sounds of the city -taxis honking, late-night partiers shouting, cars rushing by- drilling into his head from every direction. The hard tile bruised his knees, and the smell of his vomit was overwhelming, twisting his stomach, adding to the throbbing through his skull.

He took in gasping breaths, tears unwillingly leaking from his eyes as yet another constriction had him retching over the bowl.

It lasted he-didn’t-know-how-long, vomiting over and over again until nothing was coming up and still he was dry heaving agonizingly. His stomach muscles ached unbearably, his throat was raw, and the bitter taste on his tongue only made his stomach want to rebel again.

He let out a broken sob, fists clenching and head hanging.

_“Ben,”_ he whispered. _“May.”_

He knew it was futile. Of all nights, they were both working this one.

He choked on another gag and then fell heavily back against the bathtub, utterly drained of energy, ribs shuddering and heaving, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

He’d never felt this miserable in his life. What was going on with him?

He shivered violently, eyes closing as he tried to catch his breath. He must have had a fever, judging from the penetrating chill, the sweat soaking his hairline, his back, the tremors wracking his body. Every muscle ached, his insides were cramping, pain shot from his spine down every bone. His head pounded relentlessly.

He coughed weakly, and then groaned as another surge overwhelmed him and left him choking on bile once more.

When it was over, he curled into a ball, trembling and gasping, eyes and nose streaming. It was the most pain he’d ever felt in his life.

It scared him.

He gave another sob and leaned back, tilting his head back against the wall, unable to control his shuddering breaths. His eyes closed, the bright lights above the mirror burning into his lids.

He shook his head weakly.

“I can’t take this anymore.” It left him as a whisper. Some dim hope pleading for his words to reach Ben or May, begging for a rescue, comfort from this agony.

Another plea, barely audible, carried on the faintest breath. “Please. I can’t take this anymore.”

No one came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't guess, this is supposed to be the night after the spider bite. Poor bb
> 
> Comments and kudos make me squeal with delight <33


	3. May it be an evening star (shines down upon you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6: Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm really sorry, I've had a hectic few days, and the last couple prompts just would not give me any ideas, and I didn't find time to finish something with one of the alt prompts. I thought I might yesterday, but a ton of things came up and it was my birthday so I chose to just spend as much time hanging out with my friends as I could, and not stressing about getting something posted.
> 
> BUT I'm back and I've decided to just give you tomorrow's prompt a little early cuz I've got that one finished. So enjoy!!! Have some comfort after those first two chapters! I really like this one, it was so soothing to write. :) I also gave myself the challenge of writing it with no dialogue, let me know what you think!!

Tony finds the kid in one of the large common areas, a shadow curled high on a thin ledge that divides the huge floor-to-ceiling window into upper and lower halves.

Tony stands in the entryway for a few moments, watching the boy who sits looking out at the stars. He’s taught Peter many of the constellations over the past few weeks of general recuperation at the compound. He wonders if the kid is naming some now.

They’re all recovering right now. Some in more physical ways, like Carol, who’s been in physical therapy to combat the effects of the Snap. But most of them are trying to heal from less obvious damage. The holes that were left in their lives for five years, and on the other side of the coin, the trauma of splitting into a thousand particles and being scattered on the breeze. Reforming only to find a world moved on without them.

They’re all so incredibly lucky.

But that doesn’t mean they’ve been spared from pain.

Coming to a decision, Tony turns around and pads silently down the hall. He returns a few minutes later with a steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and coffee in the other.

Socked feet crossing cool hardwood and plush rug, Tony slows to a stop beneath the boy high above. He lowers himself to sit on the couch nearest the window, warmth seeping into each hand, gaze joining Peter’s in the stars.

The grounds are dark, only moonlight creating the softest of shadows beneath tree branches and in the edges of the windows. The stars shine unhindered, and the longer Tony looks, the more there are.

The stars always multiply under Peter’s gaze.

Tony glances up, at the way the moon shines its brightest beams on the edges of Peter’s face, taking care to illuminate each curl, to silhouette the curve of his brow and the line of his nose. To shine its light on each limb and wrinkle of clothing, as if to prove that yes, Peter is really here.

At long last, not a ghost, not a figment of an imagination, not dust in the wind, but a solid, breathing boy.

Peter’s chest pushes slowly in, and out, and Tony can see the faint cloud of his breath on the cool windowpane in front of him. It grows, and clears, and gathers again with each soft exhale.

Tony sips his coffee.

Before so much time has passed that the cocoa has cooled, Peter slips silently from the ledge, dropping fifteen feet to land softly and gracefully as a cat. Their eyes meet, and Tony holds up the mug in offering as Peter pads over.

Tony lifts his left arm and Peter slots into place, curling into Tony’s side, head in the dip of his shoulder where his mussed curls can brush Tony’s chin.

The boy accepts the warm mug and brings it close, sipping as Tony’s arm wraps around and his fingers find the soft locks at the nape of his neck.

He scratches gently and the boy relaxes into his hold, tension draining from his shoulders minute by minute.

They’ve all endured trauma, and the kid in his arms hasn’t been spared in the least. Conversations with many of the dusted have led to the inference that Peter is the only one who really felt the effects, the only one who didn’t more or less blink and wake up five years later. He’d told Tony, on one of these sleepless nights; murmured without prompting the way he’d felt every second; the screaming of his spider senses, the attempts of his healing factor to keep him together, only resulting in greater agony as his body flaked away. The pain of being pulled apart piece by piece, so much more slowly than the ones who’d already vanished, and the utter terror of being helpless to stop it.

The anguish he’d felt with his last breath, the guilt that he didn’t stop this from happening, with the knowledge that Tony would take the blame on himself.

The boy remembers every agonizing second, and all too often the moments come back to haunt his sleep, the same moments that have plagued Tony’s dreams all these years.

On those nights, much more frequent than the ones where they’re able to find sleep on their own, they always find each other somehow, somewhere. When they’re together, the memories fade, banished by the solidity of each other’s arms.

So they sit, together, and watch the stars, and drink in each moment with each sip of warmth.

After a time, Tony sets his empty mug with a clink on the end table, and then slips Peter’s cup from his loosening fingers, placing it beside the other.

Peter’s head tucks further in, eyelashes brushing Tony’s neck as they blink closed.

Tony rests his head atop the kid’s. Counts the seconds of the boy’s deepening breaths.

The warm weight in his arms and the quiet whoosh of air through Peter’s nose drags Tony off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for reading, I treasure each comment and kudos with all my heart! Love you all!! <333


	4. Shadows falling out of memory and time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alt prompts 7 & 10: Time travel & "please come back"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, once again it's 5am, and I wrote half of this in the early hours, but I needed to get it out because it's [forensicleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forensicleaf/pseuds/forensicleaf)'s birthday and this incredible human deserves a fic, even if it's my pitiful sleep-deprived work.
> 
> LOVE YOU FLEAF HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I meant to get more of your favorites in, but this is all that came out, but I really hope you enjoy the time travel anyway! :)

Tony sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, squinting in concentration. If he just connects… this, then the radio should-

The door to the lab hisses open and Tony drops the radio and the clamp in his other hand in panic. The two objects clatter to the floor and he freezes.

He’s caught now.

He bites his lip from his position crouched underneath one of the tables. He’s confused as to why the man came back so quickly, he’d told his assistant he’d be gone all day. But his dad surely heard the noise, and it’s been drilled into his head that punishment is less severe if he reveals himself and takes it like a man.

_ Stark men are made of iron. _

Taking a breath as slow footsteps approach, Tony slowly stands, pit in his stomach, and peers over the table to see-

“Who-who are you?”

Tony’s never seen this man before. He’s got curly brown hair, and he stops short, gazing at Tony with a very odd expression on his face. On second thought, he looks more like a teenager.

Tony’s eyes, peeping over the top of the table, flick down to where his dad’s employees are required to wear a badge. The guy has none.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Tony finds a little more confidence, eyes narrowing at the man.

He’s still just staring at Tony with his head slightly cocked, looking rather confused. But in a moment his mouth quirks up. “I’m guessing you’re not supposed to be in here either.”

Tony’s stomach grows a pit again, and instinctively, not stopping to wonder how the man might know, he begins to panic. He looks up at the guy in worry. “Please- please don’t tell my dad.”

The teen’s face softens. “I won’t tell him if you don’t tell him I was here, how about that?”

_ How about that? _ Is this guy some bad guy come to steal his dad’s stuff? Is he going to hurt Tony? Did he come here to kidnap the boy and take him away and demand that his dad pay a bunch of money? Tony’s had training for that kind of stuff. Hotsage situations and ransoms. But he’s not sure his dad would pay the money.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks suspiciously. If the guy is bad, then Tony’s trapped here, the door is at the man’s back. But if he puts on a brave front, maybe he can stall for time and think his way out.

Even as he runs through plans, Tony can’t help the feeling that there’s nothing at all threatening about the guy. Something about his posture, his… eyes?, makes Tony feel instinctively more comfortable, more relaxed than he does with even his own father.

The guy smiles again at Tony’s question, and Tony’s resolve loosens further.

“I was… looking for you, actually. I think. You are- you’re Tony, right?”

Tony doesn’t respond for a moment. He’s confused. The voices of his parents and the security personnel who trained him are warning him in his head, telling him he has no idea who this guy is and he should assume the worst. But with every passing second, his gut instinct arguing that he has absolutely nothing to be scared of from this man is growing stronger. It overwhelms the warning voices until he nods, tentatively.

The teen smiles again. “How old are you, Tony?”

“I’m seven.”

The odd expression is back on the guy’s face. He’s silent for a moment, then murmurs “Wow,” as if he’s just saying it to himself, and not pretending to be impressed at how big he’s getting like all of the adults at his dad’s events.

The moment passes quickly, and the lopsided grin is back. “What are you working on here?”

Tony can’t help grinning back. He likes this guy. His dad never asks what he’s working on.

Bending down to grab his radio and plonk it on the desk, he says excitedly, “Do you wanna see?”

—————

The boy stays for a long time, and Tony learns his name is Peter.

Peter is so fascinated by the voice activation that Tony’s wired into the radio (several simple commands like “play,” “stop,” and “volume up”), that Tony begins to tell him about the other ideas he has. He tells Peter about how his dad wants him to learn to make cars and things, is having him trained to be able to make weapons like him, when he’s really,  _ really _ old (Peter laughs), but Tony is actually more interested in things like robots and artificial intelligence. Peter seems especially interested in the robot best friend that Tony has been dreaming about making, and Tony tells him every detail.

The robot will talk to him about everything, and will give him rides, and play on the beach with him, and will help him build even more robot friends. The robot will listen to anything he has to say, and help him with all of the ideas he has. The robot will protect him, too, from anything and anyone that wants to hurt him, from the people who get much too into his space when he’s at an event, from anyone who might want to take him for money. The robot will even protect him from his dad when he drinks too much and gets mad.

Peter looks sad when he says this. Tony wonders if Peter’s dad is nicer. When he asks, Peter gets that odd look again.

“He was the best dad in the world,” Peter says, and Tony feels like there’s something he’s not getting from the way he says it.

He catches the “was,” and doesn’t think before saying “Isn’t your dad still nice?”

Peter’s smile is sad this time. “He died. A… a little bit ago.”

_ Oh. _

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Even if his own dad isn’t the best one in the world, he still doesn’t want him to die. He can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a dad who really loved you.

“Sometimes I just wish…” Peter’s sitting on the floor next to Tony, in the middle of the lab, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. His brow scrunches. “Sometimes I wish I could see him just one more time. Make sure he knows how much I love him. I’m not sure I ever told him.”

Tony nibbles his lip. “I bet he knew,” he offers.

Peter’s eyes meet Tony’s again, and to Tony’s surprise, a tear drops down his cheek, even as his smile grows.

Peter’s crying? But he’s practically an adult! His dad always says men don’t cry.

Tony doesn’t know what to do.

Peter wipes at the tear quickly. “Thank you, T-Tony,” he says quietly, stumbling on the name. “That means a lot.”

Another tear drops and Peter turns his head away to wipe at it too. “Sorry.”

Tony has no idea why he does it, he doesn’t stop to think how weird it might be. His only thought is that it’s what Jarvis did once when Tony was crying, and it’s the only way he can think to help now.

He scoots across the space between them on his hands and knees, and wraps his arms around Peter.

Peter stiffens in surprise, but only for a moment, and then he wraps his arms around Tony too.

They sit like that for a little bit, and Tony ends up curled across Peter’s lap as Peter leans back against a workbench, shaking slightly and sniffing every so often with quiet tears, and it should feel weird and awkward because they only met two hours ago, but Tony can’t help but feel it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is how it should feel to have a dad, or at least an older brother.

As Peter’s shuddering breaths slow down, he begins to rub Tony’s back lightly, and the boy feels like he could stay there forever. Peter is warm and Tony’s never just hugged someone like this before. He doesn’t usually even sit still for this long, but it’s comfortable, and in some strange way Tony feels completely at peace. Peter’s chest moves up and down steadily and Tony twists a finger in one of the short curls at the back of Peter's head.

Eventually Peter takes a deep breath, sighs it out, and straightens, which prompts Tony to release the hug and climb back off the teen’s lap.

Peter rubs his face and then smiles at Tony. “Thanks for that, kiddo.” He reaches out and ruffles Tony’s hair, and the boy grins.

They sit there slightly awkwardly for a moment more before Peter says, “What do you say to showing me some more of your projects? I’m dying to know what else is cooking in that big brain of yours.”

—————

Tony loses all track of time as they tinker; he’s surprised to find when he starts to explain something to the teen that Peter is just as good with mechanics as he is himself.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Tony asks in surprise.

Peter grins, and it’s quickly becoming one of Tony’s favorite sights. “Well, I go to a top-notch school.” He pauses for a moment. “But my dad taught me most of it.”

“Your dad was a mechanic?” Tony asks.

Peter nods. “Yup. He was the best.”

“Even as good as my dad?”

Peter chuckles. “Even better.”

They work on the radio a little, and Peter shows him how to rewire it to execute the commands more efficiently. He tells stories about his dad as they work, and Tony thinks he would have really liked to meet the man. After the radio, they mess around with a few other projects, pulling stuff apart and putting it back together, and Tony’s impression grows as Peter teaches him stuff he’s never even seen his dad do.

Tony tells Peter about his dad, too, and about his mom, and Jarvis, and about even more of his ideas. Peter asks about everything Tony’s interested in, and Tony’s never had someone who just wants to listen to him like this, and he finds himself spilling stuff he’s never said aloud before. The room fills with sunlight when Peter makes jokes, and Tony giggles, and then he tries to make Peter laugh too. He loves the way the teen rocks forward and brings his knuckles to his mouth when he laughs, the way he shoves playfully at Tony’s head when he teases, the way every touch is gentle and every glance feels like the brother Tony’s never had.

It’s a jolt to his system, it’s a sinking in his stomach, when Peter glances at his watch and then says, “I’m sorry, kiddo. Looks like it’s about time for me to go.”

Tony realizes that the sunlight in the room has grown a golden hue, and they’ve been in here all day working together. It feels like so much longer and shorter at the same time, he thinks he must have known Peter all his life, and yet the day has passed in the blink of an eye.

“Well,” Tony stalls for words. “Well, are you gonna come back?”

Peter looks sad as he smiles, he does that too much. “I don’t know, buddy,” he says.

“You have to come back!” Tony insists. “You have to help me build my robot, and you have to show me how to make it work.”

“Hey, what’ve you got that big brain for?” Kneeling in front of him, Peter knocks Tony’s forehead gently. “You’ll figure it out all on your own.”

Tony shakes his head, and there’s a feeling rising up inside him that he doesn’t recognize until he blinks and something wet slides down his cheek. “But you have to teach me about chemistry, like you said, and I have to show you the engine I made last year, and I have to tell you about Aunt Peggy, and Captain America, and I need to tell you about how I’m going to go to MIT-”

Peter wraps his arms around him, pulling him in close, and Tony hiccups, and he  _ never  _ cries, because Stark men are made of iron, but he’s crying now and he knows Peter doesn’t mind because Peter already cried in front of him.

“And I’m gonna learn how to build a ton of robots there,” Tony’s voice is going high and his face is crumpling as the room goes all blurry. “And I’m gonna show everyone what you showed me. And you need to meet Jarvis, and I need to show you where we go to the beach, and I need to show you the computer I’m making, and-” Tony hiccups again, and he can’t keep going because Peter’s arms are clutching him tight, his hand rubbing his back, and Tony knows that Peter doesn’t intend to come back.

He sobs.

Peter holds him until Tony feels the teen’s watch buzz against his back, and then Peter presses a kiss to Tony’s hair and pulls back, and his eyes are wet and red too.

“Please come back,” Tony whispers.

“Hey, kiddo,” Peter brushes the hair from Tony’s forehead. “You’ll be alright. You’ve got  _ so _ much smarts up here-” he taps, “...and so much good in here.” His hand moves to pat Tony’s heart. “You’ve got  _ so _ much good, Tony.”

Tony sniffs, and that sad smile is back on Peter’s face, and he seems to be looking right through Tony, right inside him to all his secrets and all his fears and all his dreams. “You’ll be alright,” he whispers again.

Then he stands, and bends to press another kiss to the top of Tony’s head, and Tony wants to grab his leg and keep him from going, but Peter turns and walks to the doorway, and Tony is still rooted in place, helpless.

Peter turns back when he reaches the doorway, and he smiles. “You’ll see me again, someday,” he says, “I promise.”

Tony sniffs again, and rubs his nose, but his voice doesn’t work, and he wouldn’t know what to say even if it did.

“I love you, Tony.”

And then Peter’s gone, leaving his last words to wrap around the boy in a warm hug that will stay with him like a dream as he grows.

Because maybe it  _ was _ a dream, a sunlit dream of a day, and a lab, and words and laughter and metal and wires, and a boy that walked into the room and then walked back out. Leaving so much behind that even as the dream fades and the details scatter in his memories, the ideas will always swirl at the edges, accompanied by a warmth that he’ll try to chase through the years.

Until the day he sits on a twin bed and he looks into brown eyes, and it’s like some little piece of him that’s been missing since his childhood slots into place, and he knows that the kid is his now, his to keep and care for and protect until his last breath.

And he doesn’t know why or how, but it’s like he’s always known this kid. Like he’s been tracking him down, chasing a little spot of sunlight that’s been evading his grasp since before he can remember.

Like a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go!! I feel like I could've done better, so maybe I'll come back sometime and fix a few things that my sleep-deprived brain thought would work lol. But I hope you enjoyed a longer chapter!! 
> 
> Happy birthday again fleaf!! Hope you have the best day!!!


	5. Pull you in to feel your heartbeat (Can you hear me screaming 'please don't leave me')

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #8: "Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh I'm sorryyyy
> 
> Guess I was crazy wrong thinking I might be able to crank something out every day lol, I thought I could just do some drabbles but I keep getting ideas that are so much longer...
> 
> Anyways I've had zero motivation this past week and on top of that my head decided to kill me because it thinks I'm somehow responsible for this storm system, but today is the first day in a week it's not trying to chop itself off, so hooray you get a chapter! This is one of the first prompts I got the idea for, and it's also one of my favorites, but be warned of what that might mean.
> 
> AKA: You think you've read angst before? Think again.

“‘M sorry, Pete.”

Tony’s so cold he can barely feel anything anymore -anything except exhaustion.

Their footsteps crunch in half a foot of snow, the dark forest around them hauntingly quiet as all sound is absorbed in the blanket of white.

“No, no, _no,”_ Peter pleads and it breaks Tony’s heart but it doesn’t stop his legs from giving out beneath him, one knee hitting the icy wetness as Peter struggles to keep him from falling.

“We’re almost there, Mr. Stark, we’re almost there, I promise, you’re gonna be alright-”

“Kid.” Tony breathes, and Peter’s rambling cuts off, huge brown eyes looking agonizingly into Tony’s own as the man leans heavily back against a tree trunk. Peter’s been saying the same thing for over an hour now and Tony’s only regret is not making Peter leave him behind and save himself earlier.

He’d never imagined the mission would go this wrong. Tony’s got a bullet in his stomach and Peter’s got one in his shoulder and it’s a miracle they’ve even lasted this long in the frigid night. But without Tony slowing him down, there’s a good chance the kid at least will make it to the Avengers hideout cabin that they’ve been trying to reach.

“You’ve gotta leave me-”

“No, no, _no,”_ Peter says again, shaking his head as his face screws up. Oh gosh, he can’t bear to see the kid cry. “I’m not leaving you here, Mr. Stark, I can’t leave you-”

“You have to-”

“No I _don’t!”_ Peter’s trembling and a tear spills down his cheek.

Tony feels oddly at peace.

He’s not even cold anymore.

He manages to make his arm move up and his unfeeling fingers clumsily wipe away the tear. Peter leans into the touch, eyes screwing shut as a sob fractures in his throat, and he tries to gulp it back.

“You’ll be alright kid.” Tony’s world is going dark, his eyes are slipping shut.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, no, wake up! Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep. We’ll make it, I promise, we can make it and you’ll be alright and-

The last Tony can do is murmur the words he’s never said but he knows the boy needs to hear. “I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too,” Peter gasps. “But we’re gonna be ok, you’re gonna be alright, please don’t go to sleep, Mr. Stark, please- _Tony-”_

Tony hears Peter choke on another sob but he’s too far away to feel anything but warmth, soft silence, peace.

Peter will be okay.

* * *

Sunlight pushes through Tony’s eyelids, creeping under and peeling them open, dimly lighting the space around him. Pale rays illuminate a multitude of dust particles drifting lazily through the air, the thin streams of light making their way through a cracked and dirty windowpane.

Tony’s breath makes the faintest of clouds in the chill in front of him, and the specks of dust swirl in their paths.

His lungs are stiff and he inhales, slowly, deeply, until a sharp stabbing through his abdomen catches his breath and seizes his body, everything bursting into clarity as he struggles rigidly for a moment, two, three, and he grabs staccato breaths through his nose, not nearly enough air, trying not to make a noise. It’s pain, pain, pain that he can’t think past, and he gasps, and at last his chest loosens, allowing him to gingerly release short pants of the air caught in his lungs.

His eyes close as he slowly relaxes, sinking back into the uncomfortably thin mattress, shakily exhaling. The spikes through his ribs begin to relinquish their grip. He’s on the verge of giving into the spotty cloud that’s creeping over him, tempting in its promise of oblivion, as his mind slowly registers his surroundings through the pain.

The wooden walls he’d glimpsed and the frosted trees outside the window, the crackle-popping of a small fire, the woodstove’s smell mixing with the musty one of an old space heater. The worn quilts piled on top of him, the stiff bandages wrapping his torso.

The sense of another body close beside him on the narrow bed.

Tony pries his eyes open once more and blinks away the haze and remembers telling Peter goodbye.

It takes every ounce of self-control he’s ever acquired to move with measured deliberation, turning his head first to look, taking in a careful breath, reaching over with a wince to prod the lump under the quilt, knowing that bolting upright to shake Peter awake might very well render himself unconscious for the next few minutes.

_“Peter,”_ he whispers. “Kid, wake up.”

Peter lies huddled close to him underneath the musty blankets, probably dropped there in exhaustion after carrying Tony to the cabin and making his best efforts to warm the little room. Self-sacrificing idiot.

Peter’s going to get a talking-to he’ll never forget just as soon as Tony checks his shoulder and ensures that there are no lasting effects from the long exposure to the elements last night.

Tony nudges the boy again, shuffles gingerly onto his side so he can face the kid as he shakes his shoulder. “Peter,” he says again. “Come on, kid.”

The form doesn’t move, and now Tony props himself carefully up on one elbow, the stabbing through his abdomen at the movement not even competition for the sinking pit in his gut, the clenching of his heart as it pounds faster even as his brain entirely and utterly refuses to begin to comprehend what it might mean.

Peter’s always been a heavy sleeper.

Tony pulls the blanket away from where it was half-draped across the kid’s face, and stills.

Peter’s skin is pale, near white with a gray tinge. His lips are bloodless, his eyes closed.

“Hey, Roo,” Tony breathes, reaching out to shake his shoulder again. “Come on, wake up, kid. You’re starting to scare me.” He exhales a chuckle that couldn’t be farther from humor.

There is still no response, no twitch of a finger or an eyelid. Eyebrows pinching, Tony pulls himself gingerly but desperately to a sitting position and places a palm on the kid’s cheek.

It’s cold to the touch. Peter still doesn’t move.

“Pete?” Tony’s breaths are speeding up and he doesn’t even notice, a rushing in his ears that drowns out all thought, all emotion except terror. “Hey,” he breathes shakily. “Hey, this is no time to sleep.” He might be having a panic attack, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s stuck, trapped in an endless whirlpool of his worst nightmare, and maybe he’d known it from the moment he’d woken to the absence of quiet breaths, from the moment he’d seen the shoulders unmoving beside him, but that doesn’t mean he’d understood, that doesn’t mean he’ll ever _understand._

It’s impossible, this isn’t real, this isn’t reality, it can’t be.

And yet, as Tony pulls the limp boy -not a body, _not a body-_ into his arms, as he clings desperately to the thin build, threads trembling fingers through soft curls, as he rocks gently and begins to sob through his murmured pleas, he can’t help but feel as if this is the most real thing he’s ever experienced.

Peter’s weight, heavy, unmoving in his arms. His hands that don’t come up to fist in Tony’s shirt but instead lie limp, fingers loosely curled, at his sides. His unnaturally still chest, the unfeeling coldness of his forehead on Tony’s neck.

Tony logs every sensation and knows that until his own last breath it will never leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: MCD
> 
> I'm... really, really, really, really sorry. Like, really. *ducks under my blanket*
> 
> P.S. I'm still trying to write something for every prompt, but as you might guess, febuwhump will probably extend long past February at the rate we're going. But the next chapter I promise is the fluffiest yet! I'm just... stuck on the ending.


End file.
